


Your vote of confidence is overwhelming

by shinykari (meinterrupted)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Community: cc_exchange, Established Relationship, Gratuitous use of Princess Bride quotes, M/M, Mission Fic, Phil is also a BAMF, Sitwell is a BAMF, Snark, and Clint is kind of an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:51:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Is this a kissing book?"</em>  </p><p>Or, Coulson, Sitwell, and Barton go to Bogota.  Things do not go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your vote of confidence is overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/gifts).



> Written for perpet_fic for the cc_exchange fic exchange, and originally posted at [**community here**](http://cc-exchange.livejournal.com/3975.html). I hope you enjoy it, as I had a great time writing it! Title, summary, (and several quotes in the fic) stolen shamelessly from "The Princess Bride," which is the best movie, ever, okay? Many thanks to Ara for looking this over. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

_"Doesn't sound too bad. I'll try to stay awake."_

_"Oh, well, thank you very much, very nice of you."_

*

After six hours in the mobile command unit, Sitwell had undone his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt; now eighteen hours in, he was down to rolled-up shirtsleeves and humming Eye of the Tiger off-key. Phil's only concession to the heat was a slight loosening of the knot on his tie, but even he was chafing at the enforced confinement. It wasn't sitting in a closed van in the sweltering heat of a Colombian summer from sunup to sundown, or staring at video monitors that seemed to barely change that had him on edge, or waiting for a high-level cartel leader to stroll down the street to a meeting so SHIELD could take him out in a hastily-planned mission that had Phil on edge. Oh no, it was something else.

"Come on, sir, I'm sweating my nads off up here. And that would be a tragedy for all the lovely ladies and gentlemen that have yet to experience the wonder that is Hawkeye."

Sitwell arched an eyebrow at Phil, who sighed and opened the channel. "Suck it up, Barton. And from what I hear," he added with a wry grin, "that's a shockingly small number."

"Didn't know you listened to scuttlebutt, sir. You know it's hardly ever right. Besides, the only people on this channel know my _real_ secret," Barton said, a grin in his voice.

"Oh, really?" Phil asked, wondering what, exactly, Clint was going to say. Their personal relationship wasn't technically against regulations, but it was still something that they didn't discuss openly. And Clint knew as well as anyone that all communications during an op were recorded, in the event that something went wrong.

Barton lowered his voice, as if he were about to impart classified information. "My real secret, Coulson, is that... I'm a virgin!" he crowed. "I have never in my life known the touch of another. My body is as pure as the driven snow!"

Sitwell snorted. "I have never in my life have heard such a complete load of bullshit, Barton. You're about as virginal as Wilt Chamberlain."

Barton gasped, and Phil could just picture him pressing his hand to his chest dramatically. "Jasper, you _wound me_ with your disbelief," he said, affecting a bad Southern accent, "and you cast aspersions on my character by implying such things."

"Barton, do you even know what that means?" Sitwell asked.

He snickered. "I heard it in a movie once."

"Christ," Coulson muttered to himself.

After several minutes of blessed silence, Barton spoke again. "Why do I feel like we're involved in a land war in Asia? That's just poor planning, Coulson. You're better than this."

"Would you rather go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line?" Sitwell chimed in, smirking as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Hell yes! I built up an immunity to iocane powder in the circus. Came in handy a time or two." After a pause, he asked, "Hey, you think there are any R.O.U.S.es out here, Sitwell? I could use some target practice. Been sitting up here so long my mad skills are rusting."

"R.O.U.S.es? I don't believe they exist," Coulson answered, unable to keep from smiling. "Now no more chatter. If no one shows up in the next twenty minutes, we'll chalk it up to bad intel and go home."

"Sir, yes, sir," Barton said, imbuing the words with just enough sarcasm to let Coulson and Sitwell know he wasn't doing as he was ordered because it was an order, but because he agreed with it. His inability to simply do as he was told made working with Barton frustrating in the extreme, and more than one of the less-experienced agents had attempted to reprimand him for it. Coulson, on the other hand, found it rather refreshing. Clint had fantastic instincts, when they weren't being stifled and ignored by self-important jackasses, and his insubordination had never put another agent in danger. Unfortunately, he was more reckless with his own safety, which caused Phil no end of grief and nights spent in an uncomfortable chair in SHIELD's medical wing. 

The next twenty minutes were as long and uneventful as the previous hours had been. Finally, Phil sighed and opened the channel again. "Alright Barton, pack it up."

When Clint didn't answer with an affirmative right away, Phil sat up straight in his chair and glanced over at Sitwell. Jasper frowned and began studying the screens, looking for whatever had Barton unable to verbally answer. "Barton? Do you see the target?"

A loud thump over the comm as Clint tapped his earpiece indicated 'yes' and 'close enough to be overheard' all in one. "Are you compromised?"

Two taps: no.

Phil felt his adrenaline start to spike in anticipation of the op. He turned to Sitwell, who was squinting at the monitors. "Talk to me, Sitwell," he said, leaving the channel open so Barton could get the information at the same time.

"Target spotted coming in from the northwest on Calle 42. He'll be within range in minutes. Damn, I can't believe you saw that guy in the twilight, Hawkeye," he added in an undertone.

"They don't call him Hawkeye for nothing," Phil said, since Clint couldn't. He peered at the monitors, trying to see if their target had any bodyguards. It was unusual enough for him to be attending this meet at all, and for him to be doing it alone? Phil didn't trust it at all. "Barton, there's two men loitering on the northeast corner of the diagonal. I think they're Muñoz's backup."

Clint tapped his earpiece once: understood.

After a moment more of Muñoz simply walking down the street, Phil frowned. "Sitwell, get the extraction team on standby. This doesn't feel right at all."

"I know what you mean," Sitwell muttered. "We spend months trying to get close to this guy, and he just walks down the street, all alone? After we get a tip he'll be meeting someone here?"

While Sitwell called for the extraction team, Phil watched the monitors. Frederico Muñoz, one of the higher-ups in the Neros street gang that ran South Bogotá, had been linked to some nasty gun runners that SHIELD needed information on. His immediate subordinate was on SHIELD's payroll, and willing to funnel them information, but Muñoz was keeping things close to his vest. So, the natural thing to do was eliminate Muñoz, and allow their mole more access. Of course, if their mole was found out...

"Hawkeye, don't take the shot."

Two taps: negative.

"It's a trap, Barton. Muñoz is the bait, probably send out by his superiors to test our mole's information, and capture whoever we sent after him." What he didn't say was that their mole was probably already tortured or dead, but that was understood. He spared a thought for the man's family, and made a note to see if they could be relocated.

The silence on the other end of the channel was heavy and tense. Finally, Barton tapped his earpiece once, signalling he would stand down.

Phil let out a relieved sigh, thankful that Barton didn't argue. "Can you stay out of sight until they're gone? We'll send in an extraction team if we have to--" Clint interrupted him with a pointed tap. "Of course you can," Phil conceded, letting a little of the tension bleed out of him.

"Son of a bitch," Sitwell snapped. "Coulson, they're surrounding Hawkeye's position."

"What?" Coulson focused on the monitors, and noted that Sitwell was right. More men had appeared on the street, and the citizens had all but disappeared. "Fuck. Barton! Get out of there right now!"

"On it, boss," Clint said, breaking his silence.

"We'll have a team waiting at the rendezvous point," Phil promised.

Suddenly, a shockwave rocked the van, and all the monitors flickered. "Explosion, sir," Sitwell said, scrambling.

"Barton? Talk to me, Barton!" Phil yelled over the comms. Clint didn't answer, and Phil felt his heart seize up. "Hawkeye! Report!"

Silence.

Sitwell was already on the horn with the extraction team, since their cover was well and truly blown now. When the monitors came back on, they showed a scene of utter destruction: the building Clint had been perched on was reduced to rubble and dust. Clint himself was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen, dead or alive, and Phil spotted at least two of Muñoz's men with arrows in their chests. Several others were hunting around the remains of the building, machine guns in hand.

Phil stood and stripped off his suit jacket, checked the magazine in his sidearm, and was nearly out the door when Sitwell grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Phil," he said, voice low and serious. "What are you doing?"

"My asset is missing and surrounded by hostiles, Sitwell, I'm going to get him."

Sitwell pressed his lips into a thin line and didn't release Phil's arm. "If it were anyone but Barton, would be running after him?"

Phil's body tensed and he squashed the instinctive and violent yes that threatened to bubble out of him. He swallowed and forced himself to relax. "No, I wouldn't." He met Sitwell's gaze, and saw compassion there. "Jasper, I need to find him," he said, feeling as if the confession was ripped out of him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not letting you go after the idiot alone," Sitwell said, his brusqueness inviting no argument as he checked his own sidearm. "I'm not going to stand in front of Fury and try to explain how I lost his best asset and his best handler all in one clusterfuck of a mission. Unlike your boyfriend, I'm not suicidal."

Phil grinned at his friend. "Thanks, Jasper."

"Remember this the next time I ask you for a favor," he said. "Rosa started looking at houses in the suburbs," he added, obviously disgruntled, as they climbed out of the van and out onto the streets. "We're going to need help moving."

Night had fallen while they were in the van, so the streets were dark and empty. The people who lived in this neighborhood had apparently gotten the message that something bad was going to happen, and had stayed inside. Phil made a mental note to fire whoever was in charge of intel for this region, because obviously they weren't doing their job.

Just as he and Sitwell were about to turn the corner, Clint dropped down from the roof of the building, landing in a crouch in front of them, bow in hand. He was covered in dirt, and there was a bloody gash across his forehead. He grinned up at Phil. "Miss me?"

"Christ, Barton, you'll give a guy a heart attack," Sitwell snapped.

Phil wrapped his hand around Clint's forearm and tugged him upright. He pressed his forehead to Clint's briefly, before backing off and heading back toward the van. "Why didn't you report, Specialist?"

"Comm fell out when the building exploded, sir," Clint said, leaning heavily on Phil for support. "But I got Muñoz before I got out."

"That was stupid and reckless," Phil chided, slinging his arm around Clint's waist to make it easier for both of them. He was favoring his left leg, but there wasn't any blood. "Next time, just get out."

"Op was already shot to hell, sir. I decided to do what I could with it."

Sitwell climbed into the driver's seat while Phil helped Clint into the back. As soon as the back door slammed shut, Jasper took off, driving as crazily as he always did through the narrow streets of Bogotá to their safe house. 

Clint collapsed into one of the seats, his left leg stretched out in front of him. "Think I twisted my ankle, sir," he said, voice soft with exhaustion.

"Let me see," Phil said, kneeling before him. He ran his hands along Clint's leg, eyes and ears tuned to any indications of pain. When he reached his ankle, Clint bit back a whine. Phil carefully removed Clint's boot and sock, then prodded the tender flesh. "Doesn't look broken," he murmured. "Maybe a sprain, but we won't know for sure until we get you to medical."

"Sounds like a plan, sir," Clint answered, voice steady. He clenched his teeth while Phil wrapped it tightly with the Ace bandage and put his sock back on. Once that was done, he relaxed a little and Phil sat in the seat next to him. "So, you were gonna rush into the fray to rescue me, huh?"

"You can't seem to keep yourself out of trouble, Barton. Someone needs to watch out for you," Phil said, flippant.

Clint bumped his shoulder against Phil's. "Aw, you like me, don't lie."

Phil rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it. "You have your uses, Hawkeye."

He leaned in close, his breath hot on Phil's ear. "You gonna use me later, sir?"

"Get a room!" Sitwell called from the front. "I don't want to hear this shit!"

Clint snorted. "You're just jealous you don't get to relieve your tension after this shitshow with anyone but your hand. How is Rosa, anyway?"

"She's fine, thanks for asking, and you've both volunteered to help us move whenever she decides on a house, which I really appreciate," Sitwell shot back.

Clint arched an eyebrow at Phil, who shrugged. "Suck it up. You know she'll feed you."

Clint smiled and leaned back into the seat, rubbing his stomach. "That is true. If I weren't so in love with Phil I'd use my manly wiles to seduce your wife away from you, Sitwell."

"Your manly wiles? Please," Sitwell said as he pulled onto the side street the safe house was on. "I've seen these purported 'wiles' in action, Barton, and yet somehow, I'm still secure in my marriage."

"You're right," Clint conceded with a smirk. "Rosa wouldn't recognize a good man if she saw one, since she married you."

"Children," Phil said, interrupting the argument in progress. "We can continue this once we're inside?"

Sitwell climbed out of the van first, gun in hand, while Phil and Clint waited in the back for him to ensure the street was clear.

"Thanks," Clint said, after a moment of silence, voice low. "For coming to get me. Even if I didn't need it."

"I will always come for you," Phil replied with a small, secretive smile, reaching for Clint's hand.

Clint took Phil's hand and squeezed gently, murmuring, "As you wish."

After a moment, the back doors opened to frame Sitwell, gun in hand. "We're clear."

"Good," Phil said, letting go of Clint's hand, but not before trailing his fingers lightly against Clint's palm. "Let's get inside and figure out how our mole got made. I want someone's head for this."

Clint hissed as he hobbled toward the safe house using Phil as a crutch. "You about to go bureaucrat ninja on someone, Coulson?"

"You have no idea," he answered.


End file.
